Commander In Chief - Book One: Sunnydale
by DarthTenebrus
Summary: Chronicling Xander's rise to the office of Mayor of Sunnydale
1. Prologue and Chapter One

Prologue and Chapter One

 **Commander In Chief**

 **Book One: Sunnydale**

 **Prologue**

The last of the dust and debris from the High School explosion had finally settled, the last gasp of a hard-fought, hard-won battle to save the town and, indeed, the rest of the world from a man who had finally given himself over to his darkest urges and become a demon so foul that none would hope to survive its hunger. The young man that had led the charge against Richard Wilkins had seen many friends lost in this last fight, many dear souls that would never again have a chance to make something of themselves in this world. The worse part was that the world would never know what their sacrifices meant; a vast conspiracy and a cover-up would guarantee that the true face of the darkness in this town would never be known to the world at large, and for a very good reason.

But to Xander Harris, their lives meant much, and the loss of those lives meant much more. As the last flames flickered and finally died, signifying the true end of this battle against the Dark, he looked upon the battleground and made to himself a solemn vow to make those sacrifices mean more than this. They were true heroes; someone had to tell their story. He silently recalled their names and made his vow in their memory.

To Larry Blaisdell, Harmony Kendall and the others whose names he had barely remembered but mattered no less for it, he swore that their memory would live on in song and story. As clichéd as he was aware it sounded, Xander knew it meant a great deal, and he would treat it as seriously as the Klingons did.

 _Time to get to work_...

 **Chapter One**

 **1630 Revello Drive, the Summers Residence, Two days later…**

Five pairs of eyes were glued to the television as the latest news played itself out on one of the local news channels out of Los Angeles. A reporter from the local affiliate station in Sunnydale was describing the latest in a series of bizarre accidents that seemed to follow in the wake of Richard Wilkins' death. Upon Xander's knock, five pairs of eyes looked expectedly at him. One of those pairs of eyes which belonged to a rich flowing mane of ash-blonde hair and stylish clothes adorning a forty-something woman's body strode gracefully to the door and opened it, stepping aside as she welcomed Xander into the house.

He crossed the threshold at her unspoken invitiation, letting himself in as was the custom amongst the warier of Sunnydale residents, and listening to the reporter as she went on…

"This latest death of yet another high-level official in Sunnydale's municipal government has left a lot of questions to be asked, now that a virtual power vacuum exists in City Hall, but the most important question at the moment may be this…who now is qualified to take the reins where Richard Wilkins left off? This is Sandy Mendoza live in Sunnydale, Channel Six News, now back to you in the studio."

"I thought blowing up the snake was more effective than cutting off the head," Xander quipped at hearing the reporter sign off.

"And good morning to you too," fired back Buffy. Over her shoulder, Dawn was doing her best beside her big sister to act coy and uninterested. As though with a sixth sense, Buffy read Xander's response like an open book and then gave Dawn a very light nudge in the ribs. Considering Slayer strength, Buffy didn't want to be the sister that went overboard at the slightest provocation. Dawn's "Oof!" was punctuated by the very uninterested expression that now graced her features.

"It would appear to have been doubly effective in this case," input Giles, as he joined the others in the living room, Joyce having mysteriously appeared behind him, as mothers often do, Xander marveled, the two of them carrying trays laden with comfort food. "The destruction of the late and much-unlamented Mayor apparently prompted his, ah, 'business partners' in the supernatural world to collect on his debts; with his demise, their interests now have turned to those whose dealings and collaborations with Wilkins have joined their fates to his. They are now paying the price for Wilkins' misdeeds."

"Those nasty debt collectors," Xander mused out loud, half with attempted humor and half with a touch of solemnity, "so much fun, even for century-old city officials..."

"Indeed," replied Giles. "Thus the resulting power vacuum. Unfortunately none of us here is any expert on unusual events in municipal politics, so we have few ideas as to what we may predict in this case. Doubtless one of the other communities, perhaps Sacramento, may conduct an official inquiry as to the disappearances of so much of Sunnydale's power structure."

"You ask me," said Buffy, "I'd have been more than happy if this town had ceased existing along with the Mayor. I mean, he founded the city for the sole purpose of drawing in innocent lives to the Hellmouth to be extinguished, so if the rest of the town were to suddenly pull up stakes, no pun intended, and just leave, it would make our jobs that much easier."

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, Buffy, except for the one small part where we try to convince everyone who was born and raised here that their home would best serve as a ghost town because it's a demon magnet. And which amongst us is born and raised Sunnydale?" To drive the point home, Xander raised his hand. The only other Sunnydale native present in the room raised her hand as well, further solidifying his position.

The others looked around, expressions of shame and chagrin occupying equal places in their countenances; seing it all confirmed the point Xander had made. Nodding, he continued. "This is our home, you guys, and have we not fought and bled for it many times over the past three years? So we can't just leave, and I for one refuse to."

"Then might I suggest an alternative, Xander?" pressed Giles. Looking at Xander pointedly, an amazingly foolish idea entered into the mind of the former Watcher.

"You've got that look in your eye, Watcher-mine..." piped in Buffy. "What's the what?"

The Englishman took off his glasses and began to polish them; clearly the idea made Giles as anxious as it did the rest of the Scooby gang.

"With most, if not all, of the municipal and the corporate infrastructure seemingly wiped from existence, many of Wilkins' contingencies for government continuity have been shot out of the proverbial water, to use the vernacular. The only real hope the city has, then, would be for someone to literally step in and take charge in City Hall."

"Well, who's that gonna be? The police force is almost irredeemably corrupt," asked Joyce, "so they can't do it; this town also has barely any lawyers, let alone any who could predict what sort of fallout will result from the government having seemingly, and for all intents and purposes, gutted. The bankers in Sunnydale almost all dealt with Wilkins to keep the city running, and they disappeared too, so who does that leave? Who would Sunnydale want to step into City Hall, as you said, and take charge?"

"Well, I don't know," responded Willow, having been considering the issue, "but we really don't want Sacramento getting involved with all the um, 'failing community' and the 'intervention', and with the Hellmouth under the old High School library…or, should I say, 'ruins of' the High School, shouldn't we like, prevent that from happening?"

"Well spoken, Willow," said Giles; he had always admired the young witch's intellect. "I do agree that public awareness of the Hellmouth is not what we can afford to risk. Such awareness notwithstanding, of course, the issue of state intervention in the matters of, as you put it, failing communities, is a problematic aspect at best. It is certainly not a cure-all." He paused for a moment to think, and suddenly he paled. Still, he could not deny the facts as they stood.

"One of you will have to take charge in City Hall, and serve in a capacity as Acting Mayor," he said at length, causing a collective gasp to erupt in the Summers' living room.

Joyce did not hesitate. "That is out of the question, Rupert Giles; these are children! They have not the least bit of qualifying traits that would enable them to take responsibility for the management of the entire town, and especially under these circumstances. That's ludicrous!"

"Um, high school graduates here…" said the ever-laconic Oz for the first time since Xander entered the discussion.

"Let us put aside youth for the moment, and focus on just what the circumstances are, lest everyone here forget that as of yesterday, Sunnydale no longer has a functioning government. Forget the qualifications; these 'children', as you have mislabeled them, have done more and sacrificed much for this town, indeed for humanity as a whole in the past three years than the previous administration under Wilkins did in the last one hundred. There will be no time for a political campaign; whichever of these young adults will choose to serve must do so as soon as humanly possible. We just need to figure out who it will be," countered Giles.

"Even if one of us does take over as Mayor," Xander countered in his own turn, "how do we convince some task force from Sacramento that all these high profile dead were just some freak occurrence? These people up there don't believe in coincidences, and they are gonna want answers. Somehow I don't think their links to Wilkins are gonna be sufficient for the Capitol boys and girls to leave us alone…and I don't believe all those words just came floating out of my mouth." His eyes had widened, his face pallid as a sheet, by the time he had finished speaking.

"I believe it," quipped Oz, the frown on his face evincing pleasant acceptance; his nodding head must have given it away. His expression became a bit more somber as he added, "I can't be Mayor, though. Too rebellious."

 _Molon Labe_ …mused Xander, remembering a famous Spartan expression noted for its laconic quality as much as for having been quite the daring response to the Persians' call to lay down their weapons. For all Oz knew, he could have been another Leonidas.

Oz then turned to Joyce, who backed away, hands raised to ward away an unseen evil.

"Oh no, don't look at me," she replied hastily, "I'm an art dealer, not a politician."

Realizing the urgency of her need to put in her own two cents, Buffy quickly added, "And I'm Action Girl, not Policy Girl or Political Girl or whatever you're looking for; I tend not to focus too much on balance sheets and ordnances or whatever, and I settle accounts with either my fists or Mr. Pointy…"

Then it was Willow's turn. "And I might be a super genius when it comes to computers and such, and I might actually be decent with magicks, but I'm a total spaz when it comes to talking in front of such a large crowd. I can't be Mayor…"

"And Cordelia left first thing this morning, so she pretty much showed us how much she cares about this town," Xander finished for them all, and then he suddenly paled as he realized how much he'd narrowed down the list of candidates. "Damn…" he concluded, his face gone slack with shock. "Giles can't do it – not a US citizen, and Dawn's not even in high school yet…"

All eyes turned to the obvious choice, and then Buffy sighed as she shrugged her shoulders with resignation.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Disclaimer by Author - see first chapter.

Author's note - reread the first chapter for additions to content. Happy reviewing...

"Ladies and gentlemen," she intoned, "allow me to introduce to you the new Mayor of Sunnydale, Xander Harris…"

"We'll have to act quickly," said Giles, "tomorrow preferably, and no later than one week's time from today. Who's left from the City Council under Wilkins?"

"Almost nobody," replied Willow. "Mayor Wilkins was very meticulous in his selection of office holders, and they were all appointees for as long as anyone can remember. Considering what we now know about how long he was around – he did found the city itself right on top of the Hellmouth -, we can safely assume he had direct control of the entire staff since the town's inception."

"So how do we do this?" queried Joyce, looking perplexed. "We can't exactly march into City Hall and shout 'Hostile Takeover'; there has to be a process, some sort of system put in place where the people can be involved."

"Interesting," said Oz, "a hostile takeover does have a certain barbaric flair to it."

"You're just channeling Xander," countered Willow to the soft-spoken lycanthrope.

"I am, hmm?" asked Oz, looking to the young man in question, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"Well done," he quipped.

"If we can return to the matter at hand," Giles interjected, "I believe there may be some merit in sweeping away the old administration under Wilkins."

His comment elicited more than a few casps.

"He's right," said Willow in a moment of clarity. "Oliver Cromwell."

By Jove," chuckled Giles, recognizing the reference to his own country's history, "there's hope for you after all, young Willow."

"Perhaps you could tell us all who Cromwell was," Xander interjected, "for those of us who don't exactly remember our British history?" He got an amused glare from Joyce for his comment.

Joyce then picked up for the Watcher. "Oliver Cromwell was known as the first Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland from December 1653 until his death in 1658. The Commonwealth didn't last very long, and the Royalists returned to power two years afterwards, but he had been instrumental in Britain's first attempt at a free republic in the establishment of the Commonwealth."

"You seem to know your British history rather well," remarked Rupert with some admiration. This was a colonial who bothered to study the history of Britain, from which America had gained its independence. He was rather mildly impressed. "Are you sure you weren't a Briton in a previous existence?"

"Why, Rupert, I didn't know you cared," Joyce smiled at Giles.

"I merely established precedent for our own strategy. Getting back to the more pressing issue, I don't believe we will have to resort to such barbaric measures, as Oz put it, to accomplish our goal, as I believe Wilkins' business partners have done that for us, effectively forcing out their own Rump Parliament before out new Acting Mayor can establish his equivalent of the Protectorate." Here he looked pointedly at Xander as he said this; the future Mayor's only response was to draw in a long breath and blew out his anxiety along with his carbon dioxide exhalations.

A seemingly confused Buffy interrupted, "Excuse me, but what's a butt barley, anyway?"

"Dear Lord, Buffy," exclaimed an aghast Giles as snickers erupted all over the living room, "the Rump Parliament that existed under King Charles I until Cromwell had the King executed for treason and established the Council of State to replace it and the monarchy. Of course, as your mother currently pointed out, that didn't last more than a few years before the Royalists returned to power and installed Charles the Second as King."

"But," Joyce added, raising a finger to get attention and return to the topic at hand, "whoever we install as the new Mayor doesn't need to be around for life, not like Wilkins did. No mayor in this country's history had ever served more than a few years in a single term, and our Mayor wouldn't need to be in office for very long either, so long as special elections can be held and a true Mayor chosen by the people, the residents of Sunnydale."

"Then there's the matter of reconstituting the City Council," said Buffy with an uncommon glimpse of clarity on her own face. "Who gets picked to sit on the new Council? Where do we find them? And was there even a Council at all under Wilkins?"

"I can find the records of the latest Council members under Wilkins, assuming any exist," Willow offered. "Since he's dead now, any wards he put in place to safeguard them may now have dissolved." She looked around, hoping to find some sort of agreement from all assembled.

It was Rupert, however, that was a voice of dissension. "That's an excellent idea, Willow. However, I may point out that Wilkins was nothing if not clever. We have to assume that he meant those wards to remain in place long after his death. You should search for any known reputable technomages in the area. Entice him or her with some sort of offer of compensation for services rendered."

"There's gonna have to be a City Council in place regardless," said Xander. "Whether or not Wilkins made his own laws or had his cronies draft them up doesn't matter, except to guide our strategy for reforming the government. And as far as hiring a technomage to find and wipe out some wards that may or may not exist, we have to have money to pay him or her for it."

"One problem there, Xander," warned Willow.

"What's that?"

"The city budget. That has to go on record, and the public has to be able to view those records. Wilkins was too smart to let underworld money come from the city budget, but at the same time he would have had to know where that money was coming from, and where it was going, and he would definitely have records for those."

"So when our mage takes down the wards, we look up these off-budget records, and we remunerate them from those monies," Giles input, nodding his head with satisfaction at seeing the beginnings of a plan begin to shape themselves. "Of course their remuneration would have to take place out of the public eye as people would ask questions of how the city's money is being spent. What about the police? Where do they stand?"

"Well, Bob Munroe's gone missing," answered Joyce, "so I think he might have gotten caught up in Wilkins's schemes, and he would have depended on a majority of the police force to cover up every incident that involved the supernatural. I mean, we all know there are better excuses for all those deaths than an accident with a barbecue fork or drug gangs."

"From what I get of what you're saying, Mom," offered Buffy, "at least a few on the force have to be demons. The thing's gonna be, if the rest know, then there aren't many of them on the force that aren't sympathizers. Whoever's sitting in the Mayor's office is gonna have to decide what to do with them."

"The vamps get dusted, period, point-blank," said Xander before anyone else had a chance to open their mouths. "The rest we evaluate on a case-by-case basis. We check them against Watchers' Council archives for any hostile intent, and the ones that don't check out don't survive the process. I mean," he added with a shrug of the shoulders to show his open-mindedness, "we must have come across some non-hostile types before, and even Deadboy, for all that's happened and for all that he is, has pulled our butts out of the flames on more than one occasion. So there have to be others."

"Are you going to give them the vote, too?" asked Joyce. "If you're talking about allowing demons to work as civil servants, especially law enforcement, then you need to be prepared to go all the way when the time comes." She punctuated her statement with a pointed look dead in Xander's eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to let them 'come out of the crypt'," Xander said, to qualify his previous statement, "but I would be prepared to let them apply for positions that would ease their transition into human society. For obvious reasons, the ones that can't pass for human would be better served by taking night jobs or positions on the night shift as emergency workers, or whatever work suits them best. But no vamps. I won't budge on that."

"That's a bit uncharitable, Xander," interjected Giles, spurred by Xander's anti-vampire sentiments. "Angel had his soul restored twice, lastly by one of us no less, so if there's one, there must be others who have retained souls in some form or fashion. They can't all be given the cold shoulder, Xander."

"He's right, Xander," said Oz. "They can get their nutrition from non-human sources, and human blood can even now be cloned as a cash crop."

"Hmm," Xander mused, "to never again have to bite or kill another human…"

"That's right…"

"I don't know," Xander worried, "it seems a bit far-fetched. Cloning is still an infant technology, as far as we know, and there's bound to be some sort of moral backlash if this gets off the ground." Xander's eyes suddenly acquired a faraway look; he wasn't the first one to notice his uncharacteristic depth of thought.

Perhaps he was already growing into the role that Destiny had seemingly laid out for him….

"Still," he mused, "souled vampires have got to be few and far between, so we wouldn't exactly be threatened by exposure if we start with a high output, because there won't be. Keep it at the hospital and a couple of the blood banks, and we can use it as a control measure, keep a lock on the garden-variety suckheads so they don't kill or turn anyone else, like what happened to Jesse."

"Xander…" said Giles suddenly, his glare conveying to the young man in no uncertain terms his disapproval of what could in the future be termed a racial slur.

"Oh…sorry," Xander responded with a rather sheepish grin. "I guess if I'm to be Mayor, I gotta learn to watch my language."

Giles' glare then turned into a nod of approval. "That is certainly true, especially when you consider the obvious fact that an incumbent Sheriff – excuse me, Mayor – can find himself in the public eye at the least opportune time.

"Yeah…"

"Only practice will make perfect, Xander; best to remember that."

"In other words, to be the Mayor, I gotta talk like the Mayor even when I'm alone in the shower or something…"

Suppressed laughter all around from the female Scoobies noted their individual reactions to visualizing Xander Harris making a speech to the public while butt-naked in the shower.

"And…not meaning to convey any visual here…" Xander concluded, mortified.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 _Disclaimer: See Chapter One_

It had kept on for some time, and plans were examined in minute detail until finally something of an idea developed as to the overall operation. With the political future of Sunnydale itself at stake, nothing less than exacting care was acceptable. Meanwhile the news reported death after death in the media, the latest being several judges and bankers with ties to Wilkins, and one quite by accident in the case of Interim Police Chief Paul Stein, what with the demise of the actual chief Bob Munroe having been linked to Wilkins. How ironic it was that Stein had met his end in the city morgue, slipping on the floor after it had just been mopped because he had to examine the corpses and the coroner's report on each. It was weird that he would die from an accident after nearly a lifetime investigating homicides, but there it was, and he was gone. Strangely enough, to add to the chaos, there were no lieutenants, captains or sergeants in the Sunnydale PD; everyone answered directly to Stein or Munroe or, in the case of more than half, Mayor Wilkins himself. It did not take an occult specialist to determine what had become of the latter. Wilkins' business partners were bound and hell-bent, if one ignored the reference, on collecting on his debts to them, and they were not being very discriminate in their, quote, end-quote, contract renegotiations. With the Sunnydale police force effectively hamstrung, it would not take long for the crime rate to skyrocket. The good and not-so-good citizens of Sunnydale might have been lulled into a state of denial concerning the supernatural, but the lack of an effective police force coupled with the resulting ongoing increase in criminal activity would not long be ignored.

After the meeting at Buffy's place had ended, Xander walked Willow back to her home, thoughts of the uncertain future on his mind. He had reluctantly accepted that he would have to be the one to take over in City Hall once everyone was in place to execute the operation. It would be the hardest thing they had ever done; they had only just graduated from high school, but already they had assassinated the mayor of their home town.

"Hey, you look lost," said Willow, catching his morose demeanor. He looked her in the eye, the girl who had broken up with Oz because of him, and suppressed all thought of the romantic fallout, focusing instead on the current crisis.

"Just got a lot on my mind," he sighed. "Three years fighting vamps and demons, and we spent those in high school. Now we've killed the Mayor, and I have to be the new one. Happy thoughts…"

Happy thoughts indeed. Just how would the people take it? It was going to be a virtual coup d'etat, a takeover of the kingdom, albeit a semi-peaceful one. Once their hired mage had taken down Wilkins' wards the operation would begin. Buffy would have to take over as Chief of Police and certain others of their group would fill in other positions such as City Manager and Emergency Services, Public Works, Roads and Bridges, and others, and do their respective jobs as though nothing had ever been amiss. At least they were high school graduates now, and no longer underage. To everyone's recollection there was no age restriction on filling individual positions in the municipal government, but then again Wilkins was notorious for hand-picking everyone that ever served in City Hall. It was no mental stretch to say that those selected were bound to his service, for good or ill, for the rest of their lives. And when he died, they died. It was that simple.

It would no longer be so simple. Xander and the other Scoobies would see to that. Happy thoughts, indeed.

"Yeah, happy thoughts," Willow echoed. "But you wanna know something?"

"Huh, what?"

"If anyone can do it, it's you. And here's why; you are strong-willed, intelligent yet unassuming, and normal. You've been tested, tested in ways neither you nor anyone else should have had to go through, and you've come out on top. I mean, you got Angelus to back down, of all people. Anyone else would have been scared stiff."

"Deadboy isn't people, Wills, he's a corpse," Xander responded heatedly.

"You got an undead, demon possessed, reanimated corpse of a Master Vampire, one of the most ferocious, clever, and sinister ones in history, to back off where anyone else would have been too scared to make a move or utter an 'Eep'. You, Xander Harris, are _strong_ ; never forget that."

Willow's admonishment, as uncharacteristic as it was, snapped Xander out of his fear and self-doubt for a moment. One moment, but there it was, and in that moment Xander remembered all the life-or-death struggles he and his lifelong friends had been in since Buffy's arrival in Sunnydale three years ago.

Three years of terror and secrets. Three years of barely passing classes, earning a reputation as a slacker, feeling like he had little to nothing to contribute to the fight, yet Xander knew that in the end, the sacrifice of everything he was or could have been was worth it. He and all his friends, his girls, his 'pack', as the Hyena part of his self had labeled them, should have died so many times over, yet they were here, they were alive, and they had won out over the darkness in every engagement. Despite the gang's confidence in him that he could get the job done, Xander couldn't get the thought out of his head that something big was coming down, that somehow the scales didn't balance out. Perhaps some higher power had determined he and his Scoobies were worthy of some actual attention. After all, taking out a man who had just transformed into one of the feared Old Ones was a feat worthy of attention, making it clear to the agents of the underworld that the Scoobies were destined to become major players in the eternal war between the light and the dark. Xander couldn't be sure whether his upcoming role as the new Mayor of Sunnydale was a reward or a sentence.

That question had run through his mind a number of times until finally they reached the front door to Willow's home, and Xander wondered who was snapping their fingers.

"Hey!" shouted Willow.

"Huh?" Xander shook his head to clear his mind, blinking as he did so. Just when his head cleared, his eyes snapped to Willow's and caught a hint of laughter in them.

A vocal hint of laughter escaped her lips as she responded. "You've been standing there for about half a minute now." She stepped aside, looking expectantly at him.

He took the obvious invitation and stepped across the threshold, into darkness. The lights then came on to reveal a living space that, while sumptuously furnished, did not border on the ostentatious. Clearly Willow's parents had made their own fortune; the Rosenbergs, while not having been born into family money like the Chases appeared to have been, had established a legacy of their own that espoused good management and frugality, seemingly the economic hallmarks of Jewish living. Ira Rosenberg had been the model Jewish husband and _pater familias_ , insisting on a Jewish overtone to nearly every room. Xander did not have to look closely to find the menorah and the icon of the Star of David supported by the twin tablets of the Ten Commandments. The numbers were even written in Hebrew. Xander suspected, and he thought Willow possibly knew, that someone so devout would decry a Ten Commandments with Roman numerals; after all, Latin was the language of the latest of the Israelites' ancient oppressors. There might even have been copies of the Torah and the Talmud somewhere in Ira's study somewhere, but for the very few times that Xander had actually set foot in these environs in his childhood, he had never seen them, and likely never would. He was "that Harris kid", after all and, like the Chases, the Rosenbergs turned up their noses at any hint of association with Xander's infamous parents, while their reactions were more subdued.

 _Yet another fine example of the Sunnydale justice system,_ , Xander mused as Willow led him through, muttering something he couldn't hear. _Yep, Buffy will be a shoo-in as Police Chief; she'll turn the whole corrupt establishment on its ear._ Up the stairs they went; Ira seemed intent on brainwashing the whole household into devout Judaism. Everywhere he looked, spread about ten feet apart each but not psycho-ish, there was either a Star of David, a Torah scroll, or a Ten Commandments with Hebrew numerals, all small enough not to terrify. The lone exception was the room of his host, appointed conservatively in pastels and earth tones. She sat down at her desk and then snapped open her laptop, which began to power up almost immediately. The neophyte witch looked over her shoulder to see Xander still standing in the middle of the room.

"Come on," she said, "pull up a chair." Willow watched as Xander cast about until he spotted a bean-bag chair next to the four-poster bed. He reached over and took a good handful of it, then he carried it over to Willow's side, dropped it, and then sat down in it. Willow then turned her attention to her screen, which was now displaying the Windows home screen. She grabbed an unmarked DVD-R from the above shelf, checking it for scratches, then inserted it into the CD-ROM tray and slid it closed. "OK, we're set," she exclaimed, though without the loud cheery voice of the victor; this was the focused, driven voice of the one who had successfully begun her task. She began clicking the mouse and tapping the keyboard like a concert pianist, and soon her hacking program was flooding the targeted site of the City of Sunnydale with spam mail and skipping from one URL to another, installing backdoors and penetrating local access points like a ghost. "Now in a few moments we should get some solid hits on our target," she explained to Xander. "Once I get through the firewall, the program'll let me sift through the online records, and we'll - now, that's weird…"

"What's weird, Wills?" Xander edged closer to her the better to see what had Willow in such a surprised state. She hardly noticed that he had closed the space between them by half; either that or she didn't seem to mind overmuch.

"Well, I'm trying to find records of any City Council meetings, but so far everything's turning up empty. There's not even a mention of any City Council under Wilkins the Third; when I try to access the file all I get is '404: File not found.' It doesn't even go back farther than the year 1950, and before that everything was on paper."

"OK," responded Xander, "let's look at the City Charter. That should be public record, right?"

"That's not a bad idea," Willow smiled. Then a soft chuckle made its way out of her as she continued typing. Xander couldn't help but smile and be content with that beautiful sound from his bestest bud, but still curiosity got the better of him and he asked, "What's with the chuckle?"

Willow lowered her hands to her lap, her mind having taken a detour down Memory Lane. "I was just remembering the stuff we did in Kindergarten," she answered. "And you know what struck me as weird, now that we're looking back on it?"

"I think it was founding the We Hate Cordelia Chase club," Xander mused. "You were Treasurer, remember?"

"And you were President and CEO," she filled in. "But I was going along a different, um, thing, uh…not vein, cuz that's a vamp thing, and ewww…"

"Sidetracked?" Xander's smile when she met his gaze snapped her back into focus and calmed her by degrees.

"It was one of those things the teacher had us do then. 'What I Want to Be When I Grow Up' or something like that. I thing Reagan was still President then, and when we saw the Berlin Wall come down on live television, you, me, and Jessie, then I swore to myself that I was gonna be President and do something great for the world like that. You remember that, Xan?"

"Yeah, you, me, and Jesse. Hell, everyone wanted to be President and stomp all over the big bad Commies," Xander laughed. "Then when Daddy Bush got elected and that whole thing kicked off in Kuwait? You know, Desert Shield and Desert Storm? Haha, Jesse wanted to be Stormin' Norman and put a hurting on ole Saddam's ass. Ah, it's a shame, cuz I wish he were here now."

Xander's eyes had begun to mist over, so Willow took his hand in both of hers. "I think he'd be proud of what we've done, Xander," she said softly, reassuring him, but Xander shook his head in fear.

"I don't wanna do this, Wills. I don't want to be the mayor of the Hellmouth," he replied, his voice naught but a whisper.

In moments like this, Xander was glad that Willow had the ability to shuffle off her mousy façade and act as his conscience or his counselor. She only ever did that with him; it was part and parcel of being bestest buds in the whole wide world. He was able to calm her down, and she was able to buttress him when the need arose.

"No-one ever wants to be Mayor or Sheriff, or any of those jobs; they all want the big ones. Governor, Senator, President, Pope. The fact is that they all started somewhere, and that's just what you're doing, Xander; you're making that start towards something great and wonderful. Just think of it like this," Willow explained. "All these years of being the donut boy at our research parties are finally going to pay off in dividends."

Xander's resultant laughter mirrored her own. Satisfied that she had banished his fear, Willow turned back to her laptop screen just to see something unusual.

"Wait a minute, this can't be right…"

Xander's expression picked up her sudden perplexment. "What's up?"

Willow looked over her shoulder to see him leaning over her to get a look for himself. A little more comfortable now, she turned her gaze back to the screen. "Well, I'm in the city website, and I've got other programs doing searches, but so far there's not a single reference to a Sunnydale City Charter that I've come across."

"Are you sure? Maybe you typed it in wrong."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sure. All the search parameters are correct. There's just…nothing."

"No Council, no City Charter, no elected officials either, am I right?" A suspicious look soon creased Xander's brow. "Except for the Mayor, of course, but then we know what he was all about. Knowing him, I suppose this really shouldn't be any surprise since the man was a powerful warlock. I just never figured on him pulling a Palpatine on the whole town. Get me, Wills?"

"And he did it well enough for a hundred years that nobody was any wiser." Sighing, she added, "So either all the records are on paper or they don't exist anymore—"

"Or they never existed in the first place. That just leaves one thing," Xander concluded.

"The city budget," Willow filled in the blank for him. "With no online records, it's doubtful we'll find any reference to the city budget from here. And that leaves…"

"City Hall itself. God damn it, we're not ready for this, Wills…" Xander shook his head slowly in fear.

"Xander," she chided him, "nobody's ready for this. We're basically announcing to the people of Sunnydale that hello, we're taking over, and we're crazy underqualified to run a city government - now if it were the school," and she began to rant and babble, "I'd say yeah, bring it on, let's do this, but no we blew up the School so that's not viable and…."

Xander laid a gentle hand on her shoulder when she began to turn red in the face. "Breathe, Willow, it's okay. " After a few deep breaths she nodded her thanks, then he added, "Look, I agree, nobody's ready for this, but you and Giles are right. There's no one else. Nothing like a little on-the-job training, right?"

"Right."

"Then we go tomorrow to Giles and we give him this. Hopefully he's found us our mage…"


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 _See chapter one for disclaimer._

 _Author's note: Sorry I haven't had the chance to post more regularly, but I haven't been able to get to a library lately...gonna need a new laptop or something with a word processor...but as soon as I get one, look out!_

 _Stupid library computers..._

Buffy's patrol had not been particularly eventful; aside from three newly-risen vamps in desperate need of slayage, there had been barely a whisper in the supernatural community. That was never a good sign, for what greater demon or demon lord could be so powerful, in the absence of Wilkins, as to cow the rest into submission? Still, she took the lull in activity as a blessing. It allowed her to focus on other relevant matters, such as how to handle the police. She was sure that was going to give her a serious migraine without having to Slay on the side. No eighteen-year-old should ever have the burden of rebuilding the SPD, yet it had to be done, and soon. Hopefully all the corrupt elements in the force had joined Wilkins in death, but it paid to be cautious. Corruption, of course, did not necessarily walk hand in hand with the supernatural world, and there were plenty of dirty cops in the world that had never run afoul of demons or the Hellmouth. For those that remained on the force, the temptation to turn a blind eye to criminality would have almost been too great to ignore.

Buffy found herself going back in her mind to Career Day and the Terakan assassin that had disguised herself as a police officer. Were it not for that, Buffy might have seriously considered a career in law enforcement; her aptitude tests, from what she remembered, had shown her to be a practical shoo-in as a cop.

It suddenly seemed so trivial to the Slayer that she should have such antipathy towards firearms. Non-mixy things indeed; truth be told, while Buffy was good with her fighting skills and getting in close with a demon, subduing it before administering the lethal blow, without her friends and allies it had occurred to Buffy that her track record and, indeed, her life expectancy would not have been much better than the vast majority of her predecessors. By rights, she should have died at the hands of Heinrich Nest, the Master.

Buffy and firearms…non-mixy things indeed. What a crock.

Allies and friends, someone to watch her back in the thickest fighting, were good, but having an equalizer, perhaps a revolver or a semiautomatic, would be a boon. Bullets might not seriously harm a vampire, or rather the regular steel-jacketed rounds might not (being a Slayer, to Buffy, meant knowing which weapons would and would not work, and even the use of crossbows meant one had to have a basic knowledge of ballistics), but a Slayer's reflexes and a careful preselection of ammunition types to be included in the loadout would go a long way towards slowing down the enemy prior to dealing the death blow. It was something to take up with Giles, at any rate.

Buffy had already cleaned out a vampire nest in Restfield Cemetery, and she was preparing to hit the next objective on her patrol route when she heard the sounds of struggle. She was glad that being the Slayer meant she could basically outrun a cheetah, because her rush to close the distance brought her into the next cemetery, near an old, crumbling mausoleum, and feet-first into the chest of her first victim within twenty seconds from resting.

Now a fast-moving Slayer, weighing nearly one hundred pounds plus clothing and equipment, running at nearly seventy miles per hour for twenty seconds generates an enormous amount of kinetic energy and momentum, on the order of around three hundred and fifty Newtons of momentum and a proportionate amount of kinetic energy which, in layman's terms, would be best described as beyond belief if not outright insane. Buffy's running leap, carrying her twenty feet in the space of a second, and carrying over into a double-leg flying kick, upon contact delivered all that momentum and kinetic energy into the chest of her first target, sending the vampire flying backwards into the nearest tree. The tree remained unhurt, but the unfortunate undead felt every bone in his body shatter upon impact. Suffice it to say he would not have gotten up and back into the fight any time soon.

Buffy's next victim threw a wild haymaker her way, which she easily dodged and countered with a thrust kick to the abdomen. Vamp Number Two landed about five feet from where he stood, dazed and confused, leaving Buffy free to finish him off with a thrown stake to the heart. That left two suckheads who suddenly remembered the better part of valor. They left their prospective meal to lie unhurt on the grass and hightailed it for greener, or rather redder, pastures. A thrown stake in each of their hearts ensured those pastures would remain pristine another night.

"Buffy?" spoke the voice of the one who had nearly been drained. Said voice was instantly recognizable as…

"Anya?" was the query offered in turn by the Slayer. "What brought you back to the Hellmouth?"

A skeptical look creased her brow, as a thousand plus years of existence as a Vengeance Demon calculated the odds. "Heard the impossible had happened, so I needed to see for myself. Now I've seen it, not so impossible. Where's Harris?"

"Haha, if I know Xander, he's holed up in his parent's basement for the night, trying to wrap his head around the fact that we just killed the Mayor of Sunnydale." Buffy looked around, then checked her watch. "Well, patrol's done; why don't you come with me over to Giles' place? I'm sure he'd love to hear…excuse me, just one second…" Buffy reached down and picked up one of her thrown stakes and then walked back over to Victim Number One, who was still trying to scream from having been pulverized by the tree. Even now his bones had begun to stitch themselves back together, and that had to hurt worse than the initial hundred or so breaks had been. A swift thrust of Buffy's stake penetrated the heart at the aortic valve, ending his agony as his body lost its cohesion and crumbled to dust.

"D'Hoffryn, I hate vampires…" swore Anya.

"Meh. Seen one, seen 'em all," replied Buffy. "Wellp," she popped the "p" as she continued, "that's done, now we go to Giles for the official welcome-back…"

"OK, let's go see the unemployed Watcher…"

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. If there was one thing that Anya needed to learn about getting back in touch with humanity, it was tact.

 **The Harris Residence**

Something weird was going on tonight, Tony suspected. It was nearly midnight, and Jessica's brat hadn't come home yet. Not that it really mattered to Tony; it was one less mouth to feed tonight, which meant Jessica could devote more of her time to him like she was supposed to. She was his wife, after all, and when Tony said "Jump", she was to jump and not bother with asking how high. That was his job, to say how high. To bring home the money and pay the bills; the rest of it, the drudge work that kept the house clean, that put a hot meal in front of him when he got home, that made his life deservedly easier, that was hers.

He was half tempted to go to her and ask if she knew where the brat was. He knew her brat was normally content with what he had at the house, even if all of it was in the basement, but Tony also knew he liked to hang out with his little slut friends after school hours, and nobody knew, but Tony suspected, what they did together then. Probably fucked like little minks, because their hormones dominated their thinking at that stage in their lives. It was probably a safe bet that they were doing the same shit tonight, stinking up whatever little hole they liked to hide in with the smell of their sex.

Worthless sluts, all of them. Tony changed his mind then and decided not to mention it to Jessica, and instead sent her to the fridge to get him another beer. That was about the only thing she was good for anyways, obedience, that is. About the only thing women in general were good for, and his father had pounded that into his head from the cradle. Worthless sluts in a worthless town where nobody even paid attention to what was going on around them. As far as Tony Harris was concerned, Sunnydale had only ever produced two things that were any good – quality beer and Mayor Wilkins. Now Wilkins was gone, dead, they had said, when the high school went up in that gas explosion.

Tony Harris cracked open the cold one in his hand and took a long draught, and suddenly an errant thought passed through his alcohol-fogged brain. Why didn't he run for Mayor himself? That was a damn good idea; he didn't have that bad a reputation, despite his drinking. He was a hard worker, driving a sanitation truck for the city, and he did a good job and had a stellar safety record. Hell, he'd gotten several raises in the last year alone, for which he was thoroughly grateful. The people knew him, and they really didn't give a shit about how much he drank, because he did such a good job, and he could hold his liquor, not like the rest of the guys who worked with him for the city of Sunnydale. Buncha pantywaists. He could drink the best of them under the table on any given day, and their top five on a good day. If he were in charge, however, he'd have to put down the beer, natch, but he'd sure set things right, make sure everyone was put back in their proper places.

Tony nursed the rest of his beer as he let those thoughts roll around in his head….


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 **Rupert Giles' Apartment**

Going through what remained of Jenny Calendar's belongings, those which she had gifted to him anyway, had momentarily put Rupert in a rather melancholy state. Her death affected him even now, though he should have by now found the means to move on, the impetus to carry on in the wake of her callous and senseless murder, if only to honor her memory; the moments they had shared together were a treasure to the Watcher, of greater worth than gold or jewels, and she, Jenny, had seen to it that those moments were documented in photographs, the lot of which Rupert was sorting through.

Each one he held up to his face, allowing the memory captured therein to fill him. There was one dated November 1996, toward the end of the month as Rupert remembered, just close to that colonial holiday called Thanksgiving. Jenny had invited him to her home where she had prepared a simple spread of sliced and basted turkey, pumpkin pie, bread rolls and something called green bean casserole, which Rupert found rather tasty, if somewhat unusual. After the dinner she had set her camera to a timed shoot and rushed to his side, crushing herself against him close enough to kiss. She must have wanted to, but out of respect for him she had refrained from doing so. He held up several others, basking in the remembrance of the moments, the feelings each evoked. A faculty dinner, where she had teased him in front of the other female teachers. 1996, her Samhain ritual observance, to which she had invited him. Another image showed the two of them in a rare moment in the stacks in his library. He had never felt more anxious or flabbergasted near her at any time other than then; being so close to her, trapped by her, he felt in equal measure the imminent peril of death and the most profound fullness of life. Of course, it hadn't helped that they had been about ten feet from the Slayer's weapons compartment.

Rupert picked out another photograph at random, and he marveled at the date written on it. Halloween 1997, the night of Ethan Rayne's great prank, it had been. Rupert and Jenny hadn't worn anything from Ethan's costume shop, thankfully, but she had been a great help at the school while he himself had gone to find Ethan and put an end to his schemes. And when all had been said and done, and the spell ended, she had helped to counsel those who had lost people dear to them that night. She had asked him into her classroom to help her find some ritual items, to help in healing broken hearts and spirits, and she had snuck another photograph with him with her newly-acquired digital camera. Afterwards they had found the items she had sought, some crystals, some salts and candles, and some scented oils for offerings. He put the photograph back in the pile and drew another one at random, much as a poker player might draw a card after discarding one from his or her hand, and then Rupert stopped short, suddenly angry with himself that he could compare the memories of his loved and lost Janna to a deck of playing cards. So foolish and so utterly disrespectful. He cleared his mind and adopted an appropriately solemn mentality, looking again at the photograph he now held in his hand.

Someone else had taken this photo, Rupert surmised. Perhaps Xander, or another of his students? No matter. What struck him was the date stamped on the print. Clearly this was a digital product from her infernal new high-tech camera. It was taken the day before her death at the hands of Angelus. The memory evoked fresh sorrow, made more torturous by the angelic, bemused expression on her face. So beautiful…

He had actually loved her by then. It hurt all the more because of that. Perhaps, he hoped, as with all other wounds, time would heal these as well, but not right away. Rupert set the picture back in the pile and then picked up his cup of Darjeeling next to it. Alcohol could not dull the pain at this point, he had realized, and besides, he had moved on, no longer feeling any need to avenge her in some foolish quest. The rim of Rupert's tea cup had nearly touched his lips when he spied something in the box that had contained all of Jenny's belongings. A flash of white indicated the presence of an envelope hidden among the detritus. He went ahead and took a sip of his tea, and then upon putting down his cup he reached into the box and withdrew the envelope. In Jenny's flowing, natural script, the front read:

 _"_ _To Rupert Edmund Giles, from Janna Kalderash – to be opened at the event of my death"_

Rupert carefully flipped over the envelope in his hand; on the reverse side it was unremarkable, save for a large, red wax seal, unbroken and embossed with what Jenny had shown him was the sigil of the Clan Kalderash. Unnamed emotion swelled in his heart at the thought of breaking that seal, which suddenly had become like unto a precious possession in its own right. And yet…

How much more value did he dare to place in what would essentially be the last words, the last thoughts and feelings, that his beloved Jenny had to give him?

He sat staring at the dollop of red wax, at the last thing that reminded him of Jenny. He dared not do what could never be undone. He could not unbreak that seal. Suddenly a thing occurred to him, a simple thought that shined the light of day upon the night of his resultant despair. That simple epiphany goaded him into action, and he leapt to his feet, still clutching the precious envelope in his hand, and strode to his kitchen, making a beeline for the knife drawer. He withdrew a steak knife and, ever so carefully, he applied the sharp edge to the seal. He dared not scrape the wax or tear the paper of the envelope, so he took great care and patience and reverence in prying away the seal. After what seemed like an hour the intact seal finally came loose from the back of the envelope, still stuck to the top flap, and with utmost care lest he break the seal or tear the envelope, he extracted the letter inside, gently as though he was handling an ancient, holy relic. For Rupert Giles, it may as well have been one. He opened the trifolded paper, and began to read.

 _My dearest Rupert,_ it began, _if this letter has found its way into your hands, I will have met my end at the hands of Angelus. You will naturally wonder how I knew this would happen. Do not despair, there are seers in my clan who contacted me with what they foresaw and instructed me to get my affairs in order, you know, just in case. Guess they were right, huh? Ha ha…_

 _I know, last thing you expected from me was humor from beyond the grave, even gallows humor, but there you go. I just want you to keep smiling, keep fighting the good fight. Because when you give in to despair, the darkness takes you._

 _Well, they told me to get my affairs in order, which in so doing, I am writing this letter to you, sweetheart. I had also finished researching the curse that my people used to restore the soul of Angelus. In my desk there is an Orb of Thessulah and my notes on the curse. I hope you and that resourceful young lady Willow can redo the spell and bring Angel back to us, but if you can't then please do your best to destroy him. As Angelus he is too great a threat to continue to exist, so please take my notes, the Orb, and do what you can, quickly._

Giles paused at this, thinking how pleased Jenny would be at Angel's restoration and return, but not for his disappearance. At least there had been no word indicating that Angelus might have returned. He read on:

 _As for Willow, a word of caution. I have secretly examined her magickal potential myself, and it is the greatest I have ever seen or heard about. With training and discipline, her talent and her potential to do good could be legendary. She could easily be greater than any of the witches in the Romany clans or the Wicca Covens, but if she ever gives in to darkness, and I pray fervently to our beloved Goddess that she never does, she could very easily be a greater threat than even Angelus could have hoped to become. Think about the power the Emperor from Star Wars possessed, and then double it, and you will have some idea of the darkness that could be unleashed. Frightening, isn't it?_

 _Guide her, encourage her, but above all else regarding Willow, she must be trained. This cannot be emphasized strongly enough!_

A shudder went through Giles, and then he went numb as he contemplated the enormity of that set of circumstances. Surely if such potential were achieved it would make Willow by far the most powerful witch in the known history of the human race. The possibilities were staggering; she would either be worshipped as a goddess in her own right, or she would be feared more greatly than any evil ever known before as a harbinger of eternal darkness. Were it not for Jenny having confessed post mortem to the deed, Rupert would have been shocked and appalled at having not been told in advance that such an examination was to be done. As it was, though, he was suddenly glad she had.

 _Well, enough of that,_ he continued reading. _As I told you earlier, there are others within my clan that have similar abilities and skills to mine. Which brings me to a confession I need to make, Rupert my dearest. You see, I might have led on that I was an only child in my immediate family. This is not the case; I have a twin sister who has been practicing the Craft about as long as I have, and possibly longer. I have enclosed contact information in this letter, and she knows about our fight here in Sunnydale. She is a seer, and a technopagan in her own right; my uncle Enyos can vouch for her, and he is one of the elders of the Clan Kalderash, so his word carries great weight with our council. Her name is Ivanna. Talk to her, get to know her, and get her here. Use whatever contacts you still have with the Watchers' Council, call in whatever favors you are still owed, and get her here. She can train Willow, and she can help you elsewhere by making use of her many talents._

 _A sister?_ Giles wondered. _She never told me before when she was still alive. Was it only worth it to mention it now, only before the hour of her death? How disappointing, to make no mention of a sister until she knew she was going to die. Whatever reasons she had for keeping her sister's existence a secret, it must have been important, so the only thing to do, then, is to determine exactly what those reasons are._

 _I guess I'm to contact the Council after all…_ he realized. _I still need someone to cancel those wards on the old Mayor's books, so maybe perchance this will work out._

He read the last of the letter.

 _Please continue to think fondly of me; we had such good times together, didn't we? I would have loved to have been married to you, to have children with you, to grow old with you…alas, it is likely not to be. I'm so sorry it came to this, but the seers of the Clan Kalderash have never been wrong._

 _May the Goddess protect you._

 _Your Dearest love,_

 _Jenny Anastasia Calendar  
Janna, of the Clan Kalderash_

Rupert sat for a long time, he knew not how long precisely, regarding only the name of his lost Jenny. She had used both her Western name and her clan name; he knew not why at the moment. Perhaps a last reminder of her heritage? If so, then to whom? To him? He needed no reminder; her mention earlier in her letter would stay with him forever, to the end of his days. To herself, then? It seemed necessary to her, for reasons she had chosen not to disclose, and so, unless Enyos or her sister Ivanna chose upon meeting to reveal them, he would now never know them.

Her mystery had always appealed to him, along with her intelligence and her raw, exotic beauty. Even now, after her death, the memory of it enticed him and made him long for those moments which he now understood they would never again share. What was more, she had seemed to know it and, in imploring that he get in touch with her sister Ivanna, somehow implied that he should connect with Ivanna in the same way that she and Rupert had connected. Had she somehow, without meaning to but intent upon Rupert's happiness and wholeness, suggested that he and Ivanna should somehow bond? Did she know her sister well enough that she felt it not only comfortable, but imperative, to make such a statement as that, that he and Ivanna could make each other happy?

Giles looked at the enclosed contact information; it was clear that even in death she would have found a way to tease him about his antipathy towards modern technology, especially when it came to computers. She had left only an email address, and no other information besides the names of Enyos and Ivanna Kalderash. It rather annoyed him, that mischievous streak of hers, but in her life it had also endeared him to her. He imagined that she must be looking on him from wherever Heaven happened to be, and chuckling at his frustration, however mild it was.

A knock on the door saved him from his musings, and gratefully he strode from the kitchen to answer. He opened the door to greet his Slayer and another, familiar-looking blonde woman.

The moment of happy reunion quickly grew bittersweet as Giles recognized the face of Anya, formerly the Vengeance Demon Anyanka.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Anya?" he said in greeting.

"You don't, Mr. Giles," she answered, "I heard the Mayor had been killed, and I had to see for myself. So, did he die?"

Nonplussed, Giles answered, seemingly oblivious to her usual lack of tact and blasé manner of speaking about death and wanton destruction. "Yes, he was eventually killed, but not without cost." He stepped aside to allow her and Buffy entry, being careful not to speak his invitation aloud. Upon closing the door, he continued, "Several others in the student body lost their lives in the fighting during Graduation. Principal Snyder, the old troll, was also one of the victims, and I suppose that was the only good thing to come out of that mess other than the death of Wilkins himself."

"I'll say, Giles," said Buffy, echoing her former Watcher's sentiment. That wasn't the only thing she had caught onto. "Are you okay, by the way?"

"Just capital, Buffy," he said, rather a little too quickly. To her ears, he had also sounded slightly defensive, but she couldn't figure out why.

She decided to call his bluff. "You sure? Sounds like we caught you in the middle of something. Care to let the class in on it?"

"I'd say he sounds like he's still pining over the computer teacher," input Anya, pulling no punches. At both Buffy's and especially Giles' shocked and angered expressions respectively, she clarified, "Well, a thousand years and change as a Justice Demon lends you a certain insight or intuition on these things."

Giles' expression darkened at the girls' unabated, unmitigated gall in practically airing out the proverbial dirty laundry.

"These _things_ , as you refer to them, young lady, and here I use the term loosely," he all but shouted, "are and, I'll thank you to bear in mind, a private matter for me. You can take this as a learning experience, Anya, or you can learn the hard way later in life when a less generous and restrained person than myself proceeds to thrash you within an inch of your life!"

When he had finished speaking thus, he regarded the two young ladies, who at the end of his tirade adopted appropriately contrite expressions.

"Having said that, though," he continued in a far more congenial tone, "I will now say this much, as it pertains to our group's latest venture. I'll start with a question, Anya; how much do you know about the late Mayor Wilkins?"

 _To be continued..._


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 _"_ _Having said that, though," he continued in a far more congenial tone, "I will now say this much, as it pertains to our group's latest venture. I'll start with a question, Anya; how much do you know about the late Mayor Wilkins?"_

The former Vengeance Demon plucked up her courage and answered, "D'Hoffryn made sure everyone in Arashmaharr knew who he was and to tread lightly around him. He might have been biologically human, but he had the soul of an Old One, figuratively. The man was smart and powerful, which clearly makes your killing him a major feat in and of itself."

Giles nodded in understanding before replying, "Have you been following the news lately?"

"Yeah. You need a new mayor, and you need him or her in office now. So who's it gonna be?" Anya looked from one to the other, trying not to be surprised.

"Xander's gonna do it," answered Buffy.

Anya was surprised.

"Wow…" she said in utter disbelief. "Never thought he was the type. Donut boy's moving up, huh?" Buffy and Giles simply nodded. "You think he can do it?" Anya finally asked at length.

"Can't trust anyone else to," Buffy said. "Police are dirty, everyone we know besides Xander wouldn't qualify for various reasons, and we just don't know anyone else in town well enough to take such a big risk like this. We basically have to rebuild Sunnydale's government from the ground up."

Giles took over here. "We believe Wilkins left a number of mystical safeguards in place to protect the Mayor's office."

"Told you he was smart," Anya piped in.

"May I finish?" He glared at her as she said thus. At her nod, Giles continued. "Indeed he was quite intelligent, Anya. Our goal is to have Xander in office in a week's time, but before he becomes too accustomed to his new surroundings we need to neutralize the safeguards Wilkins put in place. And that brings me to what I'm to tell you. A seer in one of the Romany Clans is to arrive soon after I make sufficient arrangements for her safe travel here. What neither of you know is that her name is Ivanna Kalderash, and she is the twin sister of Jenny Calendar."

Buffy suddenly turned on the ex-Watcher and fixed him with a withering gaze. "She said she was an only child, Giles. Who's been keeping secrets, hmm?"

"Apparently," replied Giles with some mortified reflection, "Jenny has, which has surprised me and you in equal measure, I must say. But Ivanna is clearly well spoken-of in the Clan Kalderash, and Jenny vouched for her personally, as, she claimed in her letter, does her uncle Enyos who is an elder of the Clan and a person of some considerable importance. So when she arrives, Buffy, I do urge you to restrain your hostility and, furthermore, to be on your best behavior. It would not do at all for one of us to offend the Clan's sensibilities by rejecting Ivanna's offers of assistance out of hand."

The Slayer mulled this around in her head for a moment before responding. "OK, Giles, but if she turns out to be evil or a Council plant, or otherwise has her own agenda…and I can't believe I just used that in a sentence, yay me…I make with the Slayage, K?"

"Well, erm, let's, uh, let's hope it doesn't come to that," stuttered Giles, while he produced a cloth and began to polish his spectacles. Before he was finished, Anya spoke up.

"So is this Ivanna supposed to get paid for taking out Wilkins' wards?"

Giles began to respond, but it was Buffy who answered. "We're hoping to be able to seize Wilkins' secret accounts that he used to pay his demon contacts in town and elsewhere, and then we can pay her from that money. Other than that, the rest goes into the city budget."

"Well, I hope there's a lot of money in those secret books," Anya replied, "because while I was a Vengeance Demon I had my ear to the ground, and this old town's been operating on a shoestring budget almost since it was founded. I'm talking about a major budget deficit here, or didn't you know that?"

"It would make sense that the town is used to operating in the face of a huge budget deficit then," input Giles then, "as most businesses that operate near or over a Hellmouth generally would have the highest turnover rates; funneling most of a company's liquid assets into their Human Resources budget would understandably be quite a strain on a company's overall resources. It would be far more tempting for most companies in Sunnydale to simply cut their losses and seek better business opportunities elsewhere."

Anya and Buffy nodded their heads, acknowledging their basic understanding of the huge financial crisis that Xander would clearly inherit from his demonic predecessor Wilkins.

Then Anya began to slowly shake her head in sorrow. "What a mess…" she swore. "Alright, how can I help?"

Buffy and Giles both looked at Anya wide-eyed. "I beg your pardon?" asked the Watcher.

"I said," repeated Anya, now more slowly as though addressing a child, "how can I help?" She then resumed her normal tone and added, "This town has a severe fiscal crisis on its hands, and after being around for a thousand years and change, I'd like to think I've learned a few things about money management. I've gotten failing businesses back on their feet in my spare time when I'm not on the clock for D'Hoffryn, so I'd like to take a crack at those books that Wilkins managed to squirrel away."

"I'll just bet…" answered Buffy. Just then the phone rang, and Giles went to answer it, with Buffy and Anya straining their ears to hear.

"Hello?" he called. "Yes, this is Rupert Giles…you don't say? What good fortune…indeed, yes…well, yes, while I would normally look a gift horse in the mouth, as my duties require, I will accept this as graciously as I can…thank you so much, that makes our part less burdensome, certainly…oh, one favor, I must ask you to contact the Romany Clans and arrange for an Ivanna Kalderash to come here safely to Sunnydale…yes, thank you, and should you wish we would gladly welcome you to Sunnydale as well, provided you take the proper precautions before venturing out after dark, of course…indeed, I shall certainly look forward to it…yes, well, goodbye for now…Yes, goodbye."

He then turned to the two women before him, the proverbial weight having been lifted from his shoulders. He even seemed to breathe a little easier.

"Well, that's one problem taken care of already," Giles sighed in relief, "and a stroke of good luck for us."

"Well, Watcher-mine? Spill," implored his Slayer.

After a brief chuckle Giles responded, "I just got a call from Gerald Robson, with the Watchers' Council. One of their seers had apparently foreseen the disappearance of so many in the political infrastructure, and they've effectively warned Washington and Sacramento away from this town for the time being. Robson has also agreed to arrange from Ivanna to be transported here within three days, with her consent, of course."

"Yay us," commented Buffy.

"It still won't amount to anything unless we look at those books," Anya countered. "As it is, though, I think I might be able to figure out a few things with just a few facts. You know, population figures, total versus number dead per annum…"

"Eww, morbid…." Interjected the Slayer.

"Be quiet," said the ex-demon. "Turnover rates of various businesses, insurance estimates and claim amounts, and just over the last five to ten years, just to get a glimpse…" She then looked up and added, "So who wants to pose as UCS student researchers?"

"Huh?" asked Buffy, having thought the idea out of left field.

"Someone's got to get those figures from the companies themselves, whichever companies are still here, and those companies need a reason to release those records. Who are they more likely to trust, a Vampire Slayer or a student from UC Sunnydale?"

"Point," acknowledged the Slayer.

"Indeed," echoed Giles. "For the sake of expediency, however, in light of our timetable, I would suggest against surveying every individual business in the city, and instead would recommend surveying only the top five and bottom five businesses."

"OK," replied Anya, before a moment of sudden realization occurred to her. "Damn it! Why didn't this occur to me before?! The Sunnydale Chamber of Commerce would have all of that right there! D'Hoffryn, I'm such an idiot!"

"Chamber of Commerce…kinda like one-stop shopping, right?" queried Buffy.

"Only you would make that reference, Buffy, " sighed Giles.

She shrugged in reply. "That's me, Shopping Girl. Speaking of, Watcher-mine…." She hesitated in mid-reply, suddenly unsure of how to broach the subject of firearms.

"Yes? Was there something else you wish to address?"

She fumbled over her words a bit, unsure as to his reaction, then deciding she'd had enough of it (she had quit the Council within the last year, Buffy had remembered), she plucked up her courage and said, "I need to be able to use a gun, Giles, and as I'm supposed to be the new chief of police, shouldn't I learn to use one? And if I need to use one with vamps-"

"Twelve-gauge with white oak or teak shot, hard-turned," Anya interjected.

"Hey, I was making with the 'splainy here," Buffy retorted. "And how do you know that that works with vamps?"

"Spend about a thousand years and change as a Justice Demon," Anya explained smugly, "and you learn a few different ways to take out a suckhead. Bullets won't do it from a distance, but a scattergun from a decent range will take out one or two vamps in one shot, because you don't need to aim so precisely. You, on the other hand, are the exception as a Slayer. You could probably plink off a whole nest of vamps from a football field away; your reflexes and your aim would be second to none, I'm guessing. Of course, I've never heard of a Slayer going all sniper on a vampire, or any demon as a matter of fact…"

"Indeed," remarked Rupert. "I shall have to consult the Watchers' Diaries regarding firearms, but to the best of my knowledge no Slayer has ever encountered a situation where firearms were necessary." As an afterthought, he added, "Of course it doesn't imply that the situation may never arise, and as you are to be the new police chief, some investment in firearms training may well be inevitable."

"And practical," added Anya.

"Yeah, practical…" Buffy echoed distantly. For in her mind she was already visualizing how she could end Spike, or another Master Vampire like him, not with a _stake_ to the heart from close quarters, but from a special bullet out of a sniper's rifle a mile away. She shook herself out of that particular fantasy with force of will, bringing herself back to the here and now. "But only with a special kind of bullet. Somehow I don't see myself firing stakes from a rifle, or even wooden bullets. Any ideas, please share?"

"Why don't we table this discussion until we've all had a chance to rest and recover our senses?" interjected Giles. "I would suggest that we reconvene at the Summers' residence and bring these discussions to an open forum as part of our overall plan. You should come too, Anya," he added, "as a financial consultant. In the meantime we should prepare for Miss Kalderash's arrival, the better to welcome her with open arms. "

"We'll be there," said Buffy and Anya.

 _********Commander-In-Chief: Book I - Sunnydale*********_


End file.
